


The Song is You

by Chiyume



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Dancing, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Pre-War, vintage stucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 04:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17338652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: Bucky always talks about how much fun it’d be if they could dance together, but Steve has about the same amount of rhythm in his blood as he has muscles on his body. Besides, Bucky obviously doesn’t mean that they’d be dancingtogether,as in the way Bucky dances with all those pretty girls. That just wouldn’t work. Not in public. Not anywhere.And still it’s that fantasy—to one day be able to dance well enough to at least have Bucky notice him, to see him, just for a moment—that has brought Steve to where he is now; alone in his rundown kitchen with a book he’d found at the local library that claims to be able to teach him how to dance in no time.The one with the dancing lesson...Written for the lovelyCryo-Bucky(as a by the months belated Birthday present because time moves faster than I do) <3





	The Song is You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cryo_Bucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/gifts).



> Beta by the ever so glorious [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3

Steve stares down at the open book in his hand. Brow furrowed, he can feel his brain as it attempts to tie itself into an even more complicated knot the more he tries to solve the cryptic cypher before him. 

It had seemed like such a great idea. Simple and methodical. At first. 

Lowering the book, Steve moves his gaze to the mess of newspaper cut-outs that are lying in a jumbled mess all over his kitchen floor. They’re shaped like footprints; resembling the cartoon ones you can sometimes see drawn in the morning paper’s daily strips. 

A few minutes ago they had all been neatly arranged on the floor to form the same pattern displayed in the book—a pretty brilliant idea, according to Steve himself. But as he had tried to follow his carefully crafted template, he had slipped on two of the cut-outs almost immediately, and just barely avoided impaling his left eye socket on the corner of his kitchen table.

Who would’ve thought trying to teach yourself to dance could be so dangerous?

With a sigh, Steve closes the book, and puts it aside on the kitchen counter. Perhaps he’d be better off without the footprints? God knows he’d certainly be safer… 

Using his own foot, he aimlessly kicks the cutouts aside in a meek attempt to gather them into a heap underneath the radiator under the windowsill. He’s still got a lot of work to do if he’s ever going to get this right, and he’d prefer to do so without accidentally killing himself. If there’s one thing he learned in art school, it’s that practice is key to being successful at anything. Unfortunately, practice in dancing is something Steve hasn’t been able to get many shots at. 

In order to dance, one needs a partner. Preferably a dame, he’s been told. Dames aren’t exactly Steve’s area of expertise, and as if that’s not enough of an obstacle, women also seem to despise him. Not that Steve hasn’t tried to gain their favor in every way he knows how. He smiles, holds their coats, offers them sweets if he happens to have any… He speaks politely and holds the doors open just like his mom taught him to, but nothing seems to work. At least not for him. 

Bucky, on the other hand… Well, the ladies are practically fighting over _ him _ . 

Steve’s seen it plenty of times to know. It’s like they can smell it in the air whenever Bucky gets within fifty yards of a dance hall, and before Steve knows it, he’s left behind while Bucky is led away by a swarm of frilly skirts, high heels, and smiling mouths adorned with perfectly applied lipstick. Lipstick that more than often finds its way onto both Bucky’s mouth and collar before the night is over… 

God, Steve hates it. 

And it’s not Bucky’s fault. The guy can’t help it that he’s been lucky enough to be born with enough looks and charm to last at least two lifetimes. All he has to do is open his mouth, and he’s got the entire world wrapped around his little finger. 

Steve, on the other hand, is no wordsmith; never has been. Not like Bucky. Steve’s convinced that if he could’ve learned to paint the way Bucky talks, he’d be a millionaire by now…  

But he’s not. Instead, he’s just a miserable guy whose greatest wish is to conquer the arcane art of dance. At least then he’d be able to join Bucky on the dancefloor, if only to stay close. Bucky always talks about how much fun it’d be if they could dance together, but Steve has about the same amount of rhythm in his blood as he has muscles on his body. Besides, Bucky obviously doesn’t mean that they’d be dancing  _ together _ , as in the way Bucky dances with all those pretty girls. That just wouldn’t work. Not in public. Not anywhere.

And still it’s that fantasy—to one day be able to dance well enough to at least have Bucky notice him, to  _ see him _ , just for a moment—that has brought Steve to where he is now; alone in his rundown kitchen with a book he’d found at the local library that claims to be able to teach him how to dance in no time. 

 

/\/\/\

 

Three hours later, Steve can say with absolute confidence that the author of the book is a dirty rotten liar.

Nothing makes any sense! The further along he reads, the more perplexing it gets, and Steve doesn’t know whether to curse up a storm or cry himself a river as he stares down at the incomprehensible directive aimed at him. For Christ’s sake, he can’t even tell which footprints he’s supposed to follow anymore, even less where to put his own feet. There’s no way he’ll be able to twist his ankle like that,  _ and _ spin around at the same ti— or is it the woman who’s supposed to spin?

He’s in the middle of comparing his somewhat awkward stance to the much more noble one depicted on the instructions of the page, when the front door suddenly swings open.

“Hey,” Steve hears Bucky call out before Steve’s even had time to turn around. “Sorry I’m late. Are you ready?”

_ Shit. _

“Yeah.” Steve’s attempted lie is immediately given away by the panicked squeak in his voice as he starts sweeping at the paper cutouts with his shoes. Jesus, what day is it? Thursday? Dammit, it's Thursday, and Bucky's here because Steve promised to go with him to that boxing match he’d been talking about last weekend. How could he have forgotten that? “Sure,” he adds instead, for good measure. “Uh, just give me a second. You can wait outsi—”

But as looks up, Bucky's already two steps out of the hall, and two steps into the kitchen.The chastising look he’s aiming Steve’s way makes it very clear that Steve’s bad acting doesn’t have him fooled. “You forgot, didn't you?” he asks, just as Steve makes a feeble attempt to hide the dancing book behind his back. Far too late, and far too obviously.

Steve watches with dread how Bucky's gaze catches on to the movement of his arm, and how his eyes narrow into a curious squint as he nods towards Steve’s back. “What's that?” he asks.

“What's what?” Steve replies innocently. Just a little too quickly. 

“The book you just hid behind your back.”

“What book?”

Bucky's eyes narrow even further. Then, his gaze abruptly shifts from Steve's face to the floor as something seems to catch his attention. Steve groans inwardly as Bucky studiously, as if he's proving a point simply by doing so, bends down and picks up one of the footprint cutouts next to Steve’s feet. He holds it up, allowing the brittle newspaper to flutter slightly in the draft from the window frame.

“Pardon my French, Stevie,” he says calmly. “But what the hell are you doing in here, exactly?”

Steve tries to meet his best friend’s gaze with as much innocence as he can muster, but when Bucky's expression doesn't change, Steve sighs, and pulls the book out from behind his back. He looks away as he hands it over, and winces as Bucky holds it up to read the title on the cover. After a moment of contemplative silence Bucky arches one eyebrow as he reads, out loud, “‘ _ How to become a good dancer, by Arthur Murray’. _ ” Glancing at Steve over the edge of the book, he gives a low chuckle. “You’re  _ dancing? _ By yourself?”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters defensively. “What of it?” 

“Nothing,” Bucky assures him. “I just— Well, honestly I guess I’m surprised, is all.”

“Why?”

“Well, for starters, I didn’t think you liked dancing,” Bucky replies, lowering the book. “At least not enough to turn your kitchen into— Well, whatever this is.” He looks at the front cover of the book once more. “ _ ‘Footprints included.’ _ I sure hope they’re not referring to  _ these _ ,” he adds with another wave of the cutout between his fingers. 

“It’s not,” Steve says as he snatches the paper slip out of Bucky’s hand. “It’s a library book. The footprints are missing, but I didn’t know that when I borrowed it.”

“Just as well,” Bucky mumbles. “To be honest, they feel a bit redundant to me.”

“Well, I sure could’ve used them,” Steve argues. “I’m no closer to dancing now than I was yesterday. The only thing these damn things have accomplished so far is to nearly get me killed.”

“Are you sure that’s the newspaper’s fault?” Bucky asks with a chuckle.

“Almost as sure as I am that you’re a jerk,” Steve retorts flatly.

“Well, you got me there,” Bucky admits with a humble shrug, before growing serious again. “But let's be honest, when it comes to dancing you’re not exactly…nimble.” He gives a pointed nod towards Steve’s feet, and Steve slumps his shoulders with a dejected sigh.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m pathetic.”

“I was gonna say needlessly complicated, but whatever floats your boat.” 

“I just don’t know what else to do,” Steve complains. “I’m sick of stumbling over my own feet—or other people’s feet, for that matter. I just want to be able to get through  _ one  _ dance without making a complete fool of myself, but nothing I do to learn seems to be working. I’m  _ hopeless _ .” 

Steve expects Bucky to object, or say something in his defence: he usually does whenever Steve goes on a rant about his own shortcomings. But Bucky says nothing, and when Steve looks up to see what’s made the other man so quiet, he sees Bucky gnawing at his bottom lip, his eyebrows pulled down into a frown. 

“What?” Steve asks, recognizing the look more than well. 

“Nah, I was just thinking… I mean, there  _ is _ a much easier way to learn how to dance than reading this crap.”

“What way?” 

“The way you usually do it,” Bucky replies easily. “With a partner, of course.”

Steve closes his eyes with a low sigh as he turns his face to the ceiling. “Buck, you know just as well as I do that there’s not a woman in this entire  _ state  _ that would be willing to let me step on her toes,  _ repeatedly _ , in order to teach me how to dance.” 

“Calm down,” Bucky says while waving a dismissive hand in front of Steve’s face. “Who said anything about a woman?”

“But you said—” Steve looks at his friend in confusion. And Bucky calmly meets his gaze as he takes a slight step back, pointedly holding his arms out. 

Steve blinks. 

“Oh,” he mumbles. 

“Took you long enough,” Bucky comments. He nonchalantly tosses the dance instruction book onto the kitchen table as he moves into the cleared space in the center of the room, shuffling away a few stray paper cutouts with his shoes as he goes. Then he turns around, and gestures for Steve to comes closer. 

Steve doesn’t move.

Bucky’s intention is obvious enough, Steve gets the point perfectly. He just can’t bring himself to lift his feet. He’s frozen solid in his own kitchen, nailed to the floorboards in pure, unadulterated trepidation.

“C’mon,” Bucky says impatiently, repeating the motion with his hands. “This was your idea.”

Steve wants to argue that it most certainly was not, but he also doesn’t want to sound like he’s not interested. Somehow he gets his feet to move, and Bucky flashes him a pleased smile as Steve walks up to stand in front of him.

“Lighten up,” he says, giving Steve’s still-slumped shoulder an encouraging slap . “It’s not that hard, I promise.” 

“Says you,” Steve mutters. “You’ve known how to dance since we were kids. It comes easy for you.”

“Then shouldn’t I know what I’m talking about?” Bucky retorts, at the same time as he reaches down and grabs Steve’s right hand, sending Steve’s heart leaping inside his chest. A leap that quickly turns into a full-on rollercoaster when Bucky guides Steve’s hand down and around to press against the small of Bucky’s back, pulling Steve forward as he does until they’re pressed flush together. 

Feeling the broad span of Bucky’s chest push against him does things to Steve’s stomach he hadn’t been aware were possible. They’re so close. They’re not usually this close. 

He’s so focused on the proximity of Bucky’s body that he completely forgets that he’s actually supposed to be learning something. At least until Bucky places his hand on Steve’s shoulder and gives it a slight squeeze to get his attention.

“Alright, so here I am, just a pretty little lady lookin’ for a good time,” he declares with a smirk. “And you’re the handsome devil who just asked me to dance.” 

Steve looks heavenward in a way he hopes doesn’t come off as too rude. He’s sure that if Bucky had been a woman, he would indeed have been a very pretty one; and consequently nowhere near a plausible dance partner, even if Steve had somehow been able to muster enough courage to ask in the first place. 

Bucky clearly notices Steve’s scepticism, and gives Steve’s arm a slight tug along with a berating cock of the head. “Hey,” he says. “Focus.” 

“On what?” Steve quips, perhaps a bit too snappishly, considering how timid he’s feeling. “Standing? Because I already know how to do that.” 

“I’ve seen you trip over your own feet enough times to know that’s not true,” Bucky shoots back. “But let’s pretend you’re right, so we can get started. Now, which dance was it you were trying to learn when I walked in on you before?”

“The Lindy Hop,” Steve admits, and Bucky raises his eyebrow into an impressed, albeit dubious arch. 

“No,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “No, no, no, forget the Lindy Hop. For you, the Lindy Hop no longer exists.” 

Steve frowns, but Bucky ignores him in favor of grabbing Steve’s still-free hand to bring it up in a firm clasp, declaring, “We’re gonna start with a Foxtrot.”

“A  _ Foxtrot? _ ” Steve echoes unhappily. 

“Yeah. It’s nice and slow, and the steps are the simplest there are. It’s the perfect dance for a wallflower like you,” Bucky adds with a teasing wink, but Steve’s too busy trying to keep his hands from trembling where he stands, all too aware of how he can feel Bucky’s voice reverberate through his own rib cage when he speaks.

“I— I’m not sure I can do that,” Steve stutters. He doesn’t know what to say. How is he supposed to explain that as helpful as Bucky’s offer of assistance is, it’s actually making everything  _ so much worse. _

“Hey, if you can’t get through a simple Foxtrot, then how do you expect to survive a Lindy Hop?” Bucky counters pointedly. “Now quit your bellyaching and straighten up. You ain’t never gonna impress the ladies if you keep slouching like that.” 

“I won’t impress the ladies no matter how I stand.” 

“Not with that attitude, you won’t,” Bucky agrees. “Alright, on three.”

“Wait,” Steve objects, realization finally dawning on him that this is going to happen  _ right now. _ “We don’t have any music.”

“I’ll keep count, don’t worry.”

“But I’ve only danced a Foxtrot once before in my life!” Steve stammers. “And I was  _ ten. _ ”

“Don’t worry so much. I’m telling you, it’s easy. On the count of three, you step forward with your left foot, and I’ll step back with my right. Then we do the same, but with the opposite foot, and then we take one step to the side, and stop.”

“That’s it?” Steve asks skeptically, and Bucky shrugs.

“Basically. I mean, you can spin around, switch directions, and all that jazz, but I figured we’d start from the top. Don’t you agree?”

“I guess,” Steve admits hesitantly. He swallows as he glances down at the space between their feet. “And… I guess the way you say it doesn’t make it  _ sound  _ too difficult, at least…” 

“It’s not,” Bucky assures him. “All you have to do is walk, walk, sidestep, stop. Then you just repeat. Easy as pie.”

“Okay.” Steve takes a deep breath. “I… I think I’ve got it.”

“That’s my boy,” Bucky commends, and Steve tries to hold back the sudden heat he can feel rise on his cheek in response. Then, Bucky straightens up as he tightens his grip on Steve’s hand and shoulder, suddenly towering over Steve’s head as he pulls him in even closer than before. 

“Ready then?” he asks. “On one, two, three—”

Flustered, and with more than half his focus rushing to the sensation of feeling Bucky’s back muscles move against his open palm through the fabric of Bucky’s shirt, Steve moves. He doesn’t consider in which particular way he moves, or at which speed, he simply does it. Bucky’s thoughtful explanation has been completely eradicated from his memory already, and Steve’s only coherent thought as he lifts his foot off the floor is a silent marvel over how  _ firm  _ Bucky’s body feels pushing against his own.  

Next, Steve’s foot—the  _ wrong _ foot—connects with Bucky’s shin, and Bucky staggers back with a low hiss, letting Steve go. 

“Sorry!” Steve apologises, dismayed once he realizes what he’s done. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky says with a chuckle. He grimaces slightly as he rubs at his leg, but quickly stops when Steve moves to look closer. “Proper cement mixer, you are.”

“I’m so dumb,” Steve berates himself. “You  _ clearly  _ said left, I heard you, I just didn’t—”

“Hey, it’s alright. You haven’t got that strong of a kick, you know. I’ll live.” Bucky takes a few steps back, and points to his feet. “Look, how about I just show you instead? On one, you move your foot forward like this. On two, the other foot follows…”

Steve watches as Bucky demonstrates the steps, genuinely trying to remember their order—which aren’t even hard to begin with, there are only four of them after all—but whatever he manages to memorize promptly evaporates from his mind when Bucky steps into his personal space again a few seconds later, once more grabbing Steve’s hand and bringing it to his waist.

“One more time, he says,” placing his own hand on Steve’s shoulder like before. “And remember to go slow. No running on the dancefloor.”

“Whatever you say…” Steve mumbles.

He actually manages to put the right foot forward this time, as well as the second step. However, when the time comes for him to sidestep, he ends up going to the left while Bucky moves to the right. The result is Steve stomping his foot down on top of Bucky’s toes, pretty damn solidly. 

“Sorry!” Steve says. He attempts to pull away, but this time, Bucky doesn’t let him. 

“No, this was on me,” he says, still with a firm hold on Steve’s shoulder and hand. “I forgot that you’re supposed to lead. I’m too used to it being the other way around. C’mon, let’s try again.”

They manage three full turns of the dance before Steve clumsily stumbles and nearly ends up falling over. The only thing that saves him is the tight clutch he holds around Bucky’s waist, along with the equally tight clutch Bucky has on his hand.

God, Steve can feel his palms sweating. He’s not dumb enough to think that Bucky won’t feel it, but he still clings to hope that at least he won’t  _ notice. _

When he accidentally steps on Bucky’s feet for the second time, the blame is entirely his. Once again, he stops and makes an attempt to step back, and once again, Bucky keeps him from doing so.

“Hey,” Bucky soothes, “it’s okay. I didn’t even feel that one.”

“This is hopeless,” Steve declares, both in frustration and a shrill hint of panic while tugging at the hand which is still interlocked with Bucky’s. “I’ll never learn how to do this.”

“Sure you will,” Bucky promises. “You’re just thinking about it too hard.”

“How the hell am I supposed to learn how to dance if I don’t  _ think _ about it?” Steve asks loudly.

“Like this. Here, I’ll show you.” Finally, Bucky lets go of Steve’s hand, but Steve is barely allowed a sigh of relief before Bucky takes hold of him again. Only this time, it’s not Steve’s hand Bucky wraps his fingers around, but his waist.

The touch burns straight through Steve’s clothes all the way through his skin to settle, molten and bubbling, in the pit of his stomach. When Bucky steps into Steve’s personal space again, he somehow feels even taller than he had before. 

“This time,” Bucky says firmly, “I’ll lead. You’re just gonna follow along and let your body move the way it wants to. No thinking. Just doing. You start thinking, and I’ll step on your toes just for good measure, understand?”

Steve nods silently. He lifts his gaze with the intention to meet Bucky’s eye, but only manages to get it stuck on the curve of Bucky’s lip instead. He quickly looks back down when he sees it curl into an amused smile. 

“We still don’t have any music,” Steve murmurs dumbly..

“I’ll handle the music,” Bucky says confidently. “You just relax and let me take you where you need to go. Remember: Don’t. Think.”

Steve nods. It’s an easy promise to make. How is he supposed to think about  _ dancing  _ when all his brain is shouting about is how Bucky’s thumb is currently rubbing over the small of his back? 

“You ready?” Bucky prompts. 

Steve nods again. And Bucky moves.

He goes slow; much slower than the pace Steve had set earlier. It also makes coordination a lot easier to handle as Bucky guides Steve in a lazy turn around the kitchen, one foot at a time. Yet Steve nearly ends up stepping on him a few times anyway, but manages to correct himself before actual impact. It makes for an uneven jump-skip step in the middle of the turn, but since they don’t topple over, Steve counts it as a success.

“Stop thinking,” Bucky tells him under his breath.

“I’m trying,” Steve defends himself in the middle of another skip to avoid Bucky’s left shoe.

“Try harder. You’re still looking at your feet when you move, stop it.” Underlining his statement, Bucky presses his chin to Steve’s temple and tugs him in tight enough to force Steve into turning his head sideways to avoid planting his face in the middle of Bucky’s chest. “There,” Bucky says. “Now just follow my lead.”

Steve doesn’t answer. His heart is pounding, his palms are sweating, and he’s pretty sure Bucky must’ve heard the squawk he made when Bucky yanked him in. They’re so  _ close _ , Steve’s nose can’t register anything but the smell of Bucky’s after shave along with the pomade he puts in his hair whenever he gets ready to go out. It’s a familiar scent, and one Steve’s grown fond of, but he’s never experienced it this intensely before. In fact, he’s never experienced any aspect of Bucky this intensely before. 

They’ve been friends forever, and they’ve done a lot of things over the years. Steve remembers every single sleepover, every lazy afternoon they’ve spent together. One really warm summer they used to go swimming down by the Brooklyn harbor after school and then spend the rest of the evening passing the time by the waterfront, basking in the sunlight in just their underwear.

And not even then, upon seeing Bucky in that state of undress, up close, had Steve’s body reacted like it does now.

Because now he can actually  _ feel  _ Bucky’s body against his, feel the movements of muscles through his clothes, hips pressed snug together by the steady grip of Bucky’s hand on his back. And it’s causing things to happen that really shouldn’t be happening around your best friend.

And still, Bucky keeps moving; step, step, stepping them through the room, even slower now to let Steve adjust to not being able to see where he’s placing his feet.

“Relax,” Steve hears Bucky murmur, his voice so close to Steve’s ear it sends a shiver racing down his spine. “You’re stiff as a plank.”

Heat, warm and blazing rushes up Steve’s neck and face as the mention subconsciously makes him pull his hips back. He doesn’t trust his own voice to reply, however, so he focuses on trying to do what he’s told instead. Buckling down, he closes his eyes and exhales slowly, aiming his attention towards forcing his muscles to relax rather than analyzing the way Bucky just canted his head down to press their heads closer together.

Step, step, together, pause.

_ Step, step, together, pause. _

Slowly, it gets easier. The tension in Steve’s shoulders drains away as he realizes that by allowing Bucky to actually  _ lead  _ him, he doesn’t even have to think about where he’s going. As long as he lifts the right foot, all he has to do is put it down again at the same pace as Bucky does. No thinking, simply doing, just like Bucky had told him before. He just has to listen to Bucky’s body more than he does his own head, and he’s got nothing to worry about. 

Well.

Almost nothing…  __

Steve’s not fully hard—more on account of his nerves than any mental control on his part—but that doesn’t mean he’s not scared Bucky will notice. Every step they take has their hips brushing together, and Steve tries as much as he can to keep his lower body slightly tilted to one side so the hips are indeed the  _ only  _ parts that are touching. 

He’s so occupied with his own posture, that it takes him a while to realize that the pace has shifted. The steady step-steps have stopped, replaced by slow sways from side to side. It’s nothing like a Foxtrot at all.

They’re slow dancing. 

The awareness hits Steve like a pleasurable punch to the gut, and even leaves him feeling slightly nauseous with all the implications that follows in its wake. His eyes fly open as he inhales, sharply, but silently, and feels Bucky’s fingers twitch against his back in response.

Steve keeps his head down and continues to rest his brow against Bucky’s shoulder like before, unable to bring himself to move in case it means that this, whatever they’re doing, will come to a halt. He’s afraid to look up; scared of what Bucky might see in his eyes should he fail to turn away quickly enough. So he stays where he is, and they continue to dance.

A few seconds later, Bucky begins to hum. The hum soon turn to lyrics, whispered under his breath in time with their movements. Steve recognizes them immediately. 

 

_ I hear music when I look at you, _

_ A beautiful theme of every _

_ Dream I ever knew. _

_ Down deep in my heart I hear it play. _

_ I feel it start, then melt away. _

 

Steve’s pulse quickens, and his lungs ache with the effort it takes to keep his breathing steady. Bucky’s voice is so soothing, soft, and warm, and dear lord, does Steve love that voice. Loves it more than he can find the words to explain.

He feels Bucky’s thumb swipe over the back of his hand, and prays that Bucky can’t feel it shake. 

 

_ I hear music when I touch your hand, _

_ A beautiful melody _

_ From some enchanted land. _

_ Down deep in my heart, I hear it say, _

_ Is this the day? _

 

The song, which in its original form would work very well with a Foxtrot, reaches the bridge, and Bucky goes silent. There should be instruments playing, but Steve only hears the all-too-loud sound of his own breathing in the wake of Bucky’s voice, as the other remains quiet. 

He knows the rest of the lyrics by heart; has heard them enough times on the gramophone player in the Barnes household to do so.  

 

_ I alone have heard this lovely strain, _

_ I alone have heard this glad refrain: _

_ Must it be forever inside of me, _

_ Why can't I let it go, _

_ Why can't I let you know, _

_ Why can't I let you know the song _

_ My heart would sing? _

 

Steve grits his teeth. He’s letting his imagination run away with the lyrics, and his heart along with it. As entertaining as it is to imagine that Bucky chose to sing this particular song as they drowsily twirl through Steve’s kitchen because he’s trying to tell Steve something, is beyond ridiculous. Steve can’t think like that. Not about another man. Not about Bucky. 

Not Bucky who’s his best and only friend, but oh, how he wishes he could. How he wishes he could tell Bucky how he feels, and how he wishes that Bucky would answer him back in kind.

 

_ That beautiful rhapsody _

_ Of love and youth and spring, _

_ The music is sweet, _

_ The words are true  _

_ The song is you. _

 

The dance should’ve ended along with Steve’s recollection of the song, he knows that. But Bucky keeps on dancing, and Steve doesn’t know what to do. 

He wants to stay like this forever, this close, and lose himself in the moment that has Bucky with his hand on Steve’s hip and their hands interlocked. But it hurts, because as lovely as this is, it’s not  _ real. _ It’s a fantasy that Steve needs to stop abusing for his own self, because Bucky will never think that way about him. In fact, if Bucky knew what was going through Steve’s head right now—not to mention his body—he’d surely be disgusted enough to never speak to him again.

They should just stop. Steve should tell Bucky that he’s not feeling well, and ask him to leave. Because this is going to end in disaster should he allow Bucky to stay. 

“Bucky,” he starts, moving his head to look up, “I think we shou—  _ Ow! _ ” Instantly, he feels his temple collide with Bucky’s chin—how did that even happen?—and hisses from the pain that sears through his skull on impact. “The  _ hell _ , Buck?” he exclaims as he brings his hand up to rub at the spot when Bucky’s hand lets go of his. “What are you—?”

He registers the touch of Bucky’s fingers coming up to cup around his jaw, and how the grip gently tips his head back. Next thing, Bucky’s mouth lands on top of Steve’s own, and Steve’s entire world freezes. 

Bucky isn’t fazed by the lack of reciprocation. He doesn’t move away, and continues to kiss Steve, his mouth closed, chaste and innocent. However, there is a strange tension to Bucky’s lips that makes his shoulders square, and causes his fingers to shake. The kiss doesn’t last more than three seconds, at most, but Steve’s not coherent enough to keep track.

Bucky’s  _ kissing  _ him.

The idea should be ludicrous— _ was _ ludicrous up until just a few heartbeats ago—and yet here they are. The shock of it as it lands inside his mind has Steve slowly pulling back, not really thinking about what he’s doing as he can only stare at his best friend and secret love interest, his jaw dropped.

Bucky doesn’t meet his gaze. He stares down at his feet while letting both arms hang loose by his sides, shoulders dropped low. He looks defeated.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I…I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

Steve can’t read his face at all. The sudden silence between them is deafening, and Steve can’t even come up with a reply. What the hell is he supposed to say? What does this  _ mean? _

“I should go,” Bucky says suddenly. Steve watches him turn towards the door, from the looks of things fully prepared to leave. Luckily, Steve’s faster. 

He may not know what to say, but he does know that the last thing he wants right now is for Bucky to walk out the door of his apartment and leave him alone. So he reaches out and grabs around the other man’s elbow, and has to swallow his own heart back down into his chest when Bucky immediately stops.

Steve holds his breath as he watches Bucky slowly turn his head to look down at the fingers clutching around his arm, staring at them like he’s never seen a hand before. Then, just as slowly, Bucky straightens up, turns back around, and meets Steve’s eye.

Steve’s lungs are working, and so is his throat, but he still doesn’t seem able to produce any noise, still less words. The situation is so confusing and unrealistic, he might as well be dreaming. But he knows he’s not, because the arm beneath his fingers is too solid through the fabric of Bucky’s shirt to be a figment of his imagination, and Bucky’s gaze is dark, and piercing in a way a dream could never mimic. 

Besides, had this been a dream, Steve would never had been faced with the task of deciding what to do next. His body would’ve moved on its own, and he wouldn’t have felt any fear or insecurity regarding his decision, no matter how spontaneous. But the terror that twists through his gut as he reaches out to grab around the collar of Bucky’s dress shirt nearly makes his legs give out beneath him. As he tugs Bucky down to slowly press their lips together, he can barely believe he’s the one who’s doing it.

Bucky follows without struggle or resistance, and it turns out that Steve’s legs damn near give out beneath him anyway, because as their lips meet, Bucky drags in a sharp breath through his nose. And then he moans.

It’s a sound that sends an entirely different twist coiling through Steve’s body—raw and primal in the best way imaginable as it leaves him completely defenseless. Powerless to do anything about it, he feels Bucky’s palms slot against his waist on either side, squeezing him. When one of the hands slips around to press in between his shoulder blades, Steve can’t bring himself to move, not even when the other hand drops to his lower back to pull him in. 

Steve allows Bucky to steer him backwards towards the kitchen counter. The clean plates sitting next to the sink rattle when they bump into it. The impact knocks a breathless groan out of Steve that Bucky answers with a similar noise as he deepens the kiss. Curling his fingers into the back of Bucky’s shirt when Bucky’s tongue pries his lips open, Steve’s mind reels from the sudden shift in pace. 

Steve’s only kissed one person before, a girl named Lorraine, who’d probably only allowed him to do so because she felt sorry for him. Or at least, he’d always thought that what they’d done was kiss. Now, however, with Bucky breathing warm, eager noises into his mouth, he’s not sure if that time had even counted. Because  _ this _ is a kiss, no doubt about it, and it makes Steve’s body react in ways the stiff press of a stranger’s pitying lips could never coax out of him.

He’s hard again. Not just partially like before, but fully hard with the blood in his veins pulsing south, faster and faster with each soft groan that falls from Bucky’s sinful lips. Steve’s hips move without his knowledge or consent, and as they press his lower body flush against Bucky’s own, he’s both shocked and exhilarated to find his friend in a similar state. It’s insane. It’s wonderful.

Bucky pushes back, just as eagerly, but with more intent than Steve had done. As he grinds his erection against Steve’s hips through their clothes, one of his hands slips down to cup the curve of Steve’s ass, squeezing. Steve feels the pressure of a thigh carefully wedge itself between his legs, and he reflexively bucks his hips to chase the friction as Bucky pleadingly tugs him forward with a throaty moan. 

Their bodies continue to move as they kiss, and the roll of waves on the ocean could never compete with the lewd way Bucky’s back feels beneath Steve’s hands. The muscles coil underneath his palms as Steve strokes over them, up and down, over and over. His breathing is going crazy, and Bucky’s panting as well, gasping out broken noises whenever their movements cause their bodies to hit the right spot,  _ just so. _ The noises makes Steve’s head swim, and he squeezes his eyes shut with a whine as the tremor they cause wracks through his entire body.

The sound makes Bucky pause and pull back. Steve nearly tells him not to, but to his relief Bucky doesn’t stop moving like Steve thought he would. Instead, Bucky keeps the motion going in shallow thrusts as he reaches up to cup Steve’s cheek. He’s wearing an expression on his face that Steve’s never seen before; almost like he’s drunk, but not quite. There’s a hunger in his eyes too, one that Steve can imagine the origin of all-too-well since he can feel the same want tear at him from the inside. 

Steve’s still holding onto the back of Bucky’s shirt, and he watches, mesmerized, how Bucky gently reaches up to grab around the back of his hand, and push it down until it’s is curved over the jut of Bucky’s hip instead. They’re still looking each other dead in the eye, and Steve trembles when Bucky lets his fingers slide up the length of his arm, and then back down to his wrist. Then Bucky opens his mouth, as if wanting to say something. For a moment, his expression shifts as it goes from primal lust to something sadder, and more frightened. However, it quickly gets buried by determination as Bucky continues to apply gentle pressure to Steve’s wrist, and guides his hand to the front of his pants, stopping just shy of the belt buckle with a pleading look in his eyes. 

Steve gets the hint. 

Does Bucky really want him to do that? Does Steve _ dare _ to? 

He swallows, noticing for the first time how dry his throat’s become. 

Standing here, Steve can’t help but think back on all the times he’s caught himself fantasizing about scenarios much like this. Of Bucky, willing, and eager, asking for his touch. And how guilty it had always made him feel. To have Bucky asking him for it now is sending a range of mixed emotions through his system—guilt, excitement, doubt, fear, joy—and they’re making it hard to discern what he’s actually feeling. In a daze, Steve allows himself to slide the tip of his index finger over the silvery metal of the belt buckle, hearing Bucky inhale sharply above his head as he does. It’s just a tiny sound, but it’s the nudge Steve needs to get moving again. 

With less grace than he would’ve liked, he fumbles the prong out of Bucky’s belt, and slides it open. Bucky watches in silence how Steve pops the top button of the trousers next, and his eyes follow with the movements of Steve’s trembling fingers with an intensity that feels close to physical on Steve’s skin.

The other buttons follow, one by one, until Bucky’s fly is spread open enough for Steve to ease them down past Bucky’s hips. There, he stops to stare at the sight of Bucky’s obvious erection where it presses against the white fabric of his shorts.

“Here…” Bucky murmurs. “Let me.” It’s the first words any of them has spoken in what feels like ages, and the change in his voice is evident. The throaty rasp of it sends a shiver down Steve’s spine that makes his toes curl, and as Bucky reaches out to undo Steve’s own pants, Steve fails to hold back a surprised moan. 

It had never occurred to him to ask for some sort of reciprocation, or that Bucky might even be willing to do such a thing. That he’d  _ want _ to… 

However, Steve also knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, so when Bucky pops the buttons of Steve’s fly, Steve lets him without a word. Once his pants are fully open, Bucky leans in to kiss him again, and Steve lets him do that too. 

It’s slower this time. Gentle, just like the hand that’s slowly easing its way down the front of his underwear. The first touch of fingers against Steve’s skin is searching, timid. Asking permission even as it moves forward. It makes Steve’s breathing pick up pace again, and when Bucky finally wraps his hand around his cock, Steve lets out a whimper against Bucky’s lips.

“Steve…” Bucky breathes, beseechingly brushing his left-hand fingers against the knuckles of Steve’s hand. “Please.” 

The plea shakes Steve out of it, and he quickly moves to wiggle his fingers past the elastic of Bucky’s shorts. Bucky grunts as Steve takes him in his hand, and Steve can both feel and see the violent shudder that goes through him at the touch.

Jesus Christ, what is he doing?

Bucky’s cock is thick and heavy in his grip. Steve can feel it twitch when he experimentally slides his fingertips over its smooth surface, and oh, god, _ what is he doing? _

Then Bucky kisses him again, and the moan he lets out into Steve’s mouth when Steve tightens the grip of his hand blows the last grain of doubt from Steve’s mind. Pressing in close, he starts jerking Bucky off, slow and steady. The touch of Bucky’s hand when Bucky mimics the movement makes his limbs tremble, and causes his muscles to twitch, but he doesn’t stop. He knows how to do this. He’s done it to himself a thousand times. In his dreams, he’s done it to Bucky more times than that… 

They kiss, but it doesn’t take long before they begin to loose their coordination as the pressing matter of their hands requires more focus than their mouths. Their chests bump together when the pleasure makes them twitch, gasping and moaning softly into each other’s mouths when their half-murmured pleas of want are granted. 

Soon enough, Steve’s lost himself in the sensation of Bucky’s palm and fingers as they drag over his skin, pumping his cock with practised motions that steals his breath away. He tries to repay the favor to the best of his abilities, but his mind is too foggy for him to focus. His body chases the high with every desperate shudder, and he’s clutching around Bucky’s arm with his free hand just to steady himself as he glances down to watch their hands move below their waistlines.

He wants to get there, but he doesn’t want to embarass himself by getting there too soon. If Bucky’s not close yet…

In a daze, Steve cants his head back to look up at Bucky’s face, and oh, Bucky’s so gorgeous. With his eyes half-closed and his mouth open with red lips flushed and shiny, Bucky’s the sexiest thing Steve’s ever laid eyes on. The sight makes him groan, and as Bucky looks up at the sound, their gazes meet in the space between them. 

Steve’s hips stutter along with his breathing, and he feels Bucky’s cock grow slick in his grip. 

“Bucky…” he pants. He can’t figure out what else to say, but Bucky just nods and picks up the pace of his hand, understanding without having to be told. 

Steve gasps again, and Bucky’s eyelids flutter as he nods, moaning eagerly. The sound quickly morphs into a pleading whine that settles in the back of his throat. Steve can feel the muscles of Bucky’s arm flex beneath his palm. Bucky’s arm. Bucky’s hand, touching him, pleasing him.

Not once does Bucky look away. He keeps his eyes locked on him like Steve’s the only thing that matters, and the thought makes the fire in Steve’s veins flare higher, burn brighter as the orgasm comes rushing in like a tidal wave.

Steve tries his best not to let his eyes slide shut, but he’s not sure if he succeeds. The orgasm whites out his vision, and he can’t hear anything but the rush of blood in his ears as he comes, warm and pulsing in Bucky’s grip, choking on his own breath in the rush that follows. He feels more than he hears Bucky gasp, his breath hot against Steve’s lips. Then, he feels the wet heat of Bucky’s climax coat his fingers as Bucky slumps against Steve’s shoulder with a groan. He pushes Steve back against the counter, hips thrusting, breath panting, his chest heaving as he presses his mouth against the side Steve’s neck along with a series of muffled, blissful noises. 

Steve’s head feels like it’s spinning, and had it not been for Bucky’s weight pinning him against the sink, he would’ve been on the floor the moment his own orgasm hit. He’s holding onto Bucky for dear life, trusting him to hold him up, to keep him standing, because there’s no more strength left in his bones. The part of his brain that’s still working is blabbering about consequences, and other unpleasant things that Steve really doesn't want to think about right now. He wonders if he should say something. Is there some kind of etiquette regarding situations like this that he should be adhering to? 

He doesn't have to worry about that for long, however, because from out of the blue, Bucky straightens up, and presses his lips to Steve’s own with a contented sigh. It’s a long kiss; a sweet kiss that Steve doesn’t want to end. 

It does anyway. 

When Bucky pulls back, Steve’s only partially expecting the dopey grin he sees on his friend’s face; again, like he’s drunk, but not on alcohol.

“That was…” Bucky starts, but cuts himself off with a chuckle to shake his head. “Just wow.”

It’s approval. Has to be. God, Steve prays that it has to be. 

“Yeah,” is all Steve can reply. He clears his throat, and then adds tentatively, “So…was all of that part of your regular dancing routine?”

This time, Bucky laughs out loud. Cheerful, carefree, like there’s no troubles left in the entire world. “No,” he admits. Then he leans down and presses his lips against Steve’s again, before moving them down his jaw and neck in a swift trail of fluttering kisses. “And if anyone else tries to dance with you like that,” he murmurs, “I’mma kick their fucking teeth in.” 

Steve snorts at the mental image, and the snort morphs into a giggle when Bucky moves back up to kiss at a spot right beneath his ear. “Not if I manage to trip them first,” Steve jokes back, daring the humor in spite of his anxious heart. He feels Bucky take a gentle hold of his chin and steer it around, turning his face up. This time, his eyes are serious when Steve meets his gaze, and Steve’s stomach promptly flips.

“I don’t want you to dance with anyone else,” Bucky says quietly.

“That’s okay,” Steve replies. “I… I don’t wanna dance with anyone else either.”

Bucky nods. He licks his lips, and then pulls the lower lip in between his teeth to gnaw at it—a nervous habit he’s been nursing since childhood, that no amount of scolding seem to be able to fix.

“Well, I…” Bucky starts, “Uh… I didn’t exactly plan this…” He clears his throat as his cheeks suddenly darken into a blush. “But I, uhm… I’m glad. That it happened, you know?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies as he feels the corner of his lips quirk up into a smile. “Me too.” He’s not sure what’s happening, what they’re really saying, but the butterflies in his stomach tells him that it’s something good. Something really, really good.

Bucky laughs again, and lets go of Steve’s waist to rub his hand over the back of his own neck. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says, “but… I’ve sort of been sweet on you for a while now.”  

_ Sweet on you.  _

“Honestly,” Steve says, voice trembling slightly as he tries to keep himself from grinning. “I had no idea.”

Bucky looks up, wide-eyed. “Really?” 

“Not the foggiest,” Steve admits. His discipline fails him, and he feels his mouth curl into a smile as the butterflies soar even higher.

“Huh.” Bucky seems to have trouble grasping that concept as he stares down at Steve’s kitchen sink, his brow furrowed. It’s almost as sweet as it is hysterical. Bucky’s been sweet on  _ him? _ The claim raises a horde of questions. For how long? When did it start? Has Bucky even been aware that Steve’s liked him back?

“I’ve been sweet on you too,” Steve blurts out without really thinking about it, and Bucky instantly whips his head up, his eyes now even wider than before.

“You have?”

In lack of words, Steve gestures towards their unbuttoned pants. This time Bucky’s entire face turns crimson as he slowly pulls his hand out of Steve’s underwear, like he’s a kid being caught red-handed stealing out of the cookie jar. 

“Oh, right,” he murmurs as he drops his hand to the side. “Yeah, I guess that, uh…” He clears his throat again. “So, what happens now?”

Steve glances at Bucky’s hand. His heart is still pounding, and his thoughts are yelling inside his head about what they’d just done. He has so many questions, but he also realizes that asking those now, when he still has Bucky’s semi-hard penis in his hand, might not be the best time. 

“Well,” he says slowly as he retrieves his hand from the front of Bucky’s shorts, “I don’t know about you, but  _ I’m _ gonna go get cleaned up.” He grimaces as he glances at the mess covering his fingers, before realizing that Bucky might misunderstand and think that Steve’s grimacing at  _ him _ . “You’re welcome to join me if you want?” he offers.

Bucky nods. Steve can’t help but notice that he’s still blushing. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea, but… What I meant was, what happens now…with us? After this.”

“You…” Steve trails off. He looks down at his feet.  He’s aware that his hand and shorts are still messy, and that he had really planned to wait getting into this until they weren’t, but this is Bucky asking  _ him. _ For some reason that changes everything. 

“What do you want to happen?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Bucky replies, but hastily adds when Steve’s shoulders slump, “I don’t think I wanna go back to, you know, the way things were, though.”

“Yeah…” Steve confesses. “I don’t think I could do that either…”

“So, does that mean we should— I mean, I know we’re two fellas,” Bucky rambles, “and two fellas can’t really do this properly, but… I was thinking if…maybe you’d like to be boyfriends?”

“Boyfriends?” Steve echoes, looking up.

“Yeah.” Bucky meets his gaze in earnest. “You know…like sweethearts.” He smiles; a soft, warm, albeit tentative smile. “Because I’d like that a lot.”

“Me too,” Steve murmurs back, and holy crap his legs nearly give out for the millionth time that afternoon. Bucky must notice, because he laughs again, and then shakes his head softly as he steps back. “So we get cleaned up,” he says, “and then what?”

Steve clears his throat as his focus returns to the stickiness still clinging to his skin as he turns towards the sink. “I still don’t know how to Lindy Hop,” he recalls with a shrug, turning the faucet on. “Figure you wanna show me the basics?”

“I think I could do that,” Bucky agrees, grinning as comes up next to Steve to stick his hand into the stream while Steve reaches for the soap. 

“I’m a slow learner, though,” Steve warns. He clears his throat and dares a smirk as he lathers his hands up. “You might have to stay the night.”

“You promise?” Bucky asks. When Steve turns to look at him, Bucky winks back. The bastard.

“If you’re gonna be as bad at teaching Lindy Hop as you are Foxtrot, then yeah, it’s a promise” Steve shoots back. The banter comes naturally, like nothing’s changed. Although, it clearly has, because instead of retorting with an equal insult, Bucky just grins as he leans in and kisses him softly. The water in the sink continues to flow, rinsing the lather off of Steve’s fingers, but it’s a secondary focus as the kiss suddenly grows firmer, more insistent. In a matter of seconds, it’s nothing but background noise. 

“C’mon,” Bucky purs once they break apart, his voice low and promising as he reaches out to gingerly lift the bar of soap out of Steve’s hands. “Let’s go fill up that rusty old bucket you call a bathtub and get ourselves properly clean.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fic in the comments :)  
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> [DreamWidth](https://chiyume.dreamwidth.org/)  
> or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I'm bad at replying to comments here on ao3, but I do my best to respond to DMs as soon as I get the time. I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me. <3


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